Our House, In the Middle of Our Street

It is supremely strange for me to be in London again. I’m actually staying at a rather posh hotel right now – okay, maybe not posh, but it has high ceilings, feather pillows, and I have my very own bathroom! I arrived here last night around 6pm, had a pint of Boddington’s at the hotel pub, and went to bed by 9pm. Judging by how tired I am right now, I’ll probably go to bed early tonight as well so I have a little energy when the kids descend in a few days.

This morning I walked to the B.L. since it was only a mile away from the hotel, and it was so nice to be greeted by familiar streets. I’ve been a fish out of water in Seattle. Every time I go in the car or walk around I require extensive directions; it just doesn’t feel like home yet. London felt like home this morning, something I haven’t experienced since I moved away from Los Angeles (even though I never really felt at ease with L.A.). I walked along the hustle and bustle of morning traffic and dodged around cars and tourists just like old times. I went to “my” Waitrose and picked up a few British supplies I’d been missing since I’ve been stateside. People are drawn to certain cities, and the more I visit London the more I realize that I just have a kinship to it. Yes, it’s partly because I spent a very wonderful summer here, but I felt the same way when I first visited back in college. I love the cobblestones, the people, the foggy weather.

Walking into the British Library from the public entrance was strange. Even eerier was finding a locker for my bag and going to the manuscript reading room and turning in a reader’s ticket for the manuscript I needed to consult. “90 minutes,” the staff-person smiled. 90 minutes? I could just go down one flight of stairs, grab the manuscript myself in half that time. Sigh, I was a good girl and waited for my manuscript to be delivered.

J., the closest friend I made last year and an employee of the B.L. found me as I was waiting and whisked me off for a morning tea. My lunch card still worked, so I bought us drinks and we started giggling and laughing like old times. Funny thing though, nobody recognizes me! My hair was in a pixie cut last summer, not to mention it was dyed a very light blonde; right now I have my usual dark-blonde hair and I’m wearing it much longer. It’s not until I smile that people seem to realize who I am. I’m trying not to assume it’s because I’m fat or ugly. Soon, many of my colleagues from last year joined us for morning tea and I felt completely in my skin again for the first time since I left Los Angeles.

Lunch was much the same. I ate at the B.L. canteen because it’s really cheap ($4 for lunch, which is much less than the typical $12 or so at a cafe). Mmmm cabbage and Lancashire Hotpot.

Tomorrow I’m meeting my boss to discuss working at the B.L. this winter. It’s something I’ve been keeping to myself because I’m frightened that if I get excited, it won’t work out. I’d be working on the same project as I did before, and since I know the drill, I’m a good candidate for the job. K. has started calling the B.L. my mistress; he knows, though, that he will always have my heart, even if manuscripts do occupy a large portion of my brain. I know many people don’t understand our peripatetic relationship—it’s all very John Donne, trust me.